I backed out and turned into another room that had a bare green air mattress and on it three young, muscled men were making out. I saw a camera stand at the end of the bed. They were filming themselves, and I was mesmerized. I stood there, watching their muscles ripple. I told myself that I was being a terrible voyeur, a disgusting old woman but still, I couldn’t make myself leave. One of the boys met my eyes and he grinned while I shuddered. Jolted into action, I rushed down the red corridor and stumbled into a dressing room filled with laughter and cigar smoke.
And Tim. “Chickadee,” he said, and he seemed delighted to see me. He took a puff of his cigar and a cloud of smoke filled the room. Tim was dressed in a glittering gold muumuu and high heels. His black-and-white face was the same as always only he’d added large patches of red blush to his cheeks. A white feather boa with gold tips was flung around his neck.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“Here,” another voice said. “Help her sit down.”
I felt very odd. The room was melting. The walls weren’t solid, and my vision became a distorted fish-eye lens. I sank down onto the sofa and closed my eyes. I could feel myself crushing a pile of ballet tutus and I heard myself mumble an apology. I tried to stand up, but the kind new voice told me there was nothing to worry about. “Lie back, darling,” the voice said. “I’ll get you some water.”
I lay back as a hand stroked my head, which helped. The panic started to ebb from my body. I gathered myself slowly and opened my eyes. A tall young man with eyelashes two feet long was hunkered down next to me, gently running his fingers through my hair, looking at me with concern.
“Meet Dammit Janet,” Tim said.
“Put out that disgusting cigar,” the young man told him. “It’s probably making her feel more crook.
Tim nodded and stubbed it out.
“I’m Janet,” the young man said. I wished he would stroke my forehead forever.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Margaux.”
“Oh, you’re Tim’s new boarder.”
“I guess I am. Are you guys on soon?”
“We are. We sing. We do karaoke and look beautiful.” Janet grinned. “At least I do, anyway. You’ll stay for the show?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Then I remembered something. “The bartender said you might call me on stage. Please don’t call me onstage.”
“We won’t, darling. Here, drink some water.”
I took the water he offered.
“I can’t take you back to the front,” Tim said. “The audience can’t see us. Can you find your way back? Just go straight, unlike the rest of us here.”
Janet gave a high-pitched cackle. He was snapping at his fishnet stockings and adjusting a large blonde beehive wig.
I stood up slowly. “I’m fine,” I said, and I was. “I’ll see you out there. Break a leg or whatever one says.” I left them and walked back the way I came. The rooms were empty now, and I wondered if I had imagined everything. Perhaps the stress was getting to me even though I thought I was coping.
The bar room was jam-packed and it was hard to find a place to stand.
Tina Marie and Dammit Janet came out and the crowd leapt up, chanting and applauding. Tim was an amazing singer. He sounded so much like Cher that it was freaky while Janet sounded like Sonny. They were hilarious and fantastic, and their rendition of “I’ve Got You Babe” nearly set the room on fire. I watched, feeling outside of myself, not really there, not really a part of it.
How I wished I could stop thinking about my life just for just one moment. And I wished my goddamned stupid husband would tell me where he was and what on earth he was thinking, running away like that. I almost wished he was dead because then I could take his body home, bury it, and get on with the rest of my life. No, I didn’t mean that. Not really. I just hated this limbo he’d stuck me in.
But then again, I asked myself, was this limbo anything new? Hadn’t Lyndon stuck me in limbo the moment I married him? I’d simply been too foolish and naïve to know it at the time, but, looking back, it was exactly what he had done, right from the very start. And this, our retirement holiday around the world, this was supposed to be my reward, my big gold star for being a good, solid, supportive wife. Even now, he had taken it away from me, had left me hanging like a balloon that floated away from a parade and got stuck in a tree. No one ever rescued those balloons. They were just left to wither and die. And even if the tree released me, where would I go?
12. LYNDON
MY APPRENTICESHIP AS A TATTOO artist started the next day. I read late into the night, and Jason wanted me to observe the other guys for a couple of days before picking up a machine. I was filled with exhilaration and joy pumped through my veins. Having a purpose and being powered by passion was nothing short of a miracle.
The days flew by and, if I were a religious man, I’d be on my knees thanking God.
Jason, to my surprise, was an intensely spiritual man, and he invited me to join his early morning yoga sessions on the rooftop of the building.
“It’s just not right to get up at this hour,” I grumbled, the first morning he woke me up. “I haven’t been up this early in my entire life.” It was five a.m. “And I’ve never done yoga,” I told him for the fiftieth time. “I’ll probably break into several hundred parts. I’ve calcified. It’s best to leave these things undisturbed.”
“No, it is not best,” Jason said, and his smile looked quite evil. “We’re going to introduce your body to movement. It may feel a bit shocking at first, but your body will get used to it, and soon it will even like it and long for it. Our bodies are meant to move, not sit all day in office chairs.”
“I shovel snow at home,” I protested, following him up the stairs and feeling ridiculous as I lay down my yoga mat. “I mow the lawn in summer. I take out the garbage. I am very active.”
“You take out the garbage for exercise?” Jason thought this was hilarious. “Well, we’re going to make you do a bit more than that today, sunshine. I’ll talk you through it. Follow my lead and don’t overdo it. Only do whatever your body can do.”
Which was not a lot. My body was indeed like a bunch of desiccated twigs and stiff parts, and nothing was willing to bend. I was horrified at how out of shape I was. I’d always assumed my body would naturally retain its mobility, but my joke had backfired on me—I had indeed calcified.
“I am going to fix this,” I said to Jason while we lay in savasana, the only pose I thought I would be able to do, but inexplicably, even that hurt. “My whole body hurts. Even just lying down like this. Do you have any books on yoga?”
“Many,” he replied, his arms splayed out slightly from his sides, his eyes peacefully closed. “But don’t worry about books. Just stick with me, and I’ll show you what’s what.”
“How long have you been doing it?” I sat up and rubbed my shins. I rubbed my feet and my thighs and my head and my neck.
“Since I came to Australia. It was the only good thing about godforsaken Sydney. It got me started on yoga. By the way, we’re supposed to be silent during savasana to fully reap the benefits of the practice.”
“Oh, sorry,” I replied, about to chat to Queenie when I remembered Jason’s comment about silence, so I stroked her quietly. The sunrise was glorious, and the air was quiet and fragrant. Were it not for the incredibly noisy Australian birds that sounded like they were simultaneously barking and throwing up, the moment would be a peaceful one.
I wondered if Jason had fallen asleep. I was about to leave him on the roof when he rolled himself up in a single smooth fluid motion and hopped to his feet. For a large man, he was very graceful.
“Time for breakfast,” he said, and I picked up Queenie and my yoga mat and followed him into the kitchen where I put the kettle on. According to Jason, I now made a decent cup of tea, which meant I had learned how to brew
his caramel-coloured beverage exactly how he liked it.
We sat down and Jason spooned steel-cut oatmeal onto my plate and I added a dollop of Greek yoghurt and a teaspoon of raw honey. I wondered if I was losing any weight. Margaux would like that. She hadn’t been happy with, as she put it, “the layer of pudge” that I had allowed to encroach over the years. I hadn’t been too happy about it either, but I also hadn’t been unhappy enough to do anything about it.
“I’ve never asked,” Jason said. “What did you do with your life before you came here?”
“You haven’t asked,” I replied, “and I love that about you. Why do we have to take a perfect relationship and ruin it?”
“We’re not ruining it. Are you afraid I won’t like who you were before? We all have snakeskins we need to shed. I don’t care about your past. I am just interested in how it will affect your present. Maybe there are areas in need of healing.”
Areas in need of healing? Who was this guy? A six-foot-five, tattoo-headed bundle of lean muscle and coiled-up energy. A gangster in his past, I was sure of it. And yet, he was also an an organic-food eating, yoga-practicing spiritual guru. Who was Jason?
“You yourself are an interesting contradiction of moving parts,” I said, and he shook his head.
“Deflection won’t work.”
“I am a married man,” I told him with reluctance. “I married young. I was twenty-five. I don’t regret that. I have two kids, Adam and Helen. I don’t regret them either.”
“Have you contacted any of them since you disappeared?”
“How would I have?” My tone was sharp. “I had to turn my phone off or the police would find me. Anyway, I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“You could tell them not to worry,” Jason said, getting up.
I collected the bowls and washed them. I set them on the drying rack and straightened the table. I poured another cup of the bitter brew and I felt miserable. He was right. I should have done something, and yet again, I had done absolutely nothing. How quintessentially me. You could dress me in designer black and have me step out in the world’s coolest boots, but you couldn’t change my fundamentally useless nature. I picked up one of the tattoo books and opened it.
Jason returned with his computer and set it down on the kitchen table. “We’re going to send one of them a message,” he said.
I sat up and snapped the book shut. “Who? What message? What do you mean?” But I knew who and what he meant. “Then they’ll know where I am,” I objected. “I don’t want them to know.”
“They won’t know. They’ll get an email from [email protected], and they won’t be able to trace it. Trust me, if there is one thing I know better than the inside of my mouth, it’s computers. I am a computer whiz. There’s nothing I can’t find my way into either. A handy skill if I say so myself. What do you want to say? Let’s send it to all three of them.”
“Oh yes, let’s,” I retorted sarcastically. “And say whatever you want. I’m not part of this.”
“You know you want to do this,” Jason said, and he was right. My heart was beating erratically, my mouth was dry, and my armpits were lakes of sour sweat. But yes, I did want to do this. I needed to tell them not to worry. I needed to tell that that I loved them.
“Tell them…” I said, my voice cracking. “Tell them not to worry. Tell them I love them.”
“A good start, sunshine,” Jason said, and I wanted to hit him. He typed it in. “And then? Dictate. I’m a fast typist, so off you go. What next?”
“And then nothing. Nada, zip, zero.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Okay, okay. Just tell them that I am fine and that I’ll be in touch with them when I can. I don’t want them to ask me any questions, and I don’t want them to know where I am or what I am doing. I need some time to myself. Tell Margaux I’m sorry I ruined the trip. And tell Adam I’m sorry I didn’t meet his boyfriend at the party. I’m sure I have to apologize to Helen for something, but I don’t know what it is right now. Just tell them I’m sorry I wasn’t a good dad. Tell them also that I didn’t plan this—it just happened. And tell them I love them. And that’s it, okay? Please, enough.”
“That will do,” Jason said. “Now, email addresses?”
I told him.
“Sent,” he said, pushing enter with a flourish. He looked at me as I wiped the tears off my cheeks.
“Let’s go for a walk and get some ice cream,” he said kindly.
I got up and blew my nose loudly. “What am I? Five? Ice cream? We just had breakfast.” But I was smiling, and I did feel as if several boulders had been extracted from the centre of my chest.
13. MARGAUX
I WOKE UP TO AN EMAIL from Lyndon:
I am fine. I need some time. I will be in touch when I can. Please don’t ask me anything about what I am doing or where I am. I won’t answer if you do ask. Margaux, I am sorry I ruined your trip. Adam, I am sorry I didn’t meet your boyfriend at the party. Helen, I am sure I have to apologize to you for something, but I can’t think what it is. Just know I am sorry I wasn’t the best dad. I didn’t plan this. It just happened. I do love you all.
This bombshell from [email protected].
Of the three of us, I was the first to open it. It was sent at eight-thirty a.m., Sydney time, ten p.m., Toronto time. Adam checked his email moments after me and he tried to get me on Skype. But I needed time to think, so I didn’t respond, which I knew would drive him nuts.
I messaged him to let him know that I was fine and needed time to think.
But the poor boy simply had to talk. After he sent me a barrage of text messages and emails, I finally told him to call me, which he immediately did.
“I can’t talk louder than this. Rick’s asleep. He’s got an early meeting,” he whispered and for some reason, this annoyed the hell out of me. If he couldn’t talk, why did he have to phone me? I reminded myself that he loves me, and that he was worried about me, and of course, that he wanted to talk about it. I knew I was annoyed with his whispering simply because I was so angry with Lyndon.
“Adam, if you can’t talk properly, then perhaps phone me back when you can,” I snapped at him. “Okay? I’m fine. Let’s talk when you can really talk. Phone me whenever. I’m sure I’ll be awake. Your father has killed my ability to sleep, along with so much else.”
“No, Mom,” Adam was clearly upset, and I was angry with myself now, too. “I don’t want talk later. What do you think Dad meant?”
“About what?,” I said. “His note wasn’t exactly confusing. Oh, Adam, look, listen to how horrible I’m being to you. I told you I don’t want to talk now and I don’t. I can’t. Please, don’t be hurt or angry but I need to think, okay? I can’t add any illuminating knowledge as to the insights of the note. I know as much as you do.”
“No, Mom, don’t hang up. Please don’t. Did you reply?”
“Of course, I did not reply. He doesn’t deserve a reply. Did you reply?”
There was silence.
“When did you reply?” I asked him. “We only got the note about half an hour ago.”
“I sent him a reply immediately,” Adam admitted. “A few actually. Well, a dozen. Asking him where he is, telling him how unfair this is, telling him what this has done to you. Telling him how selfish he is. I must admit, Mom, I didn’t hold back. But why should I have? He did this. He started all this. I sent them immediately because I thought he’d still be online and that he’d see them.”
“And now we might never hear from him again,” I said, tremulously. “He was clear. He said don’t ask him. And you did. That’s the thing with you, Adam. You always push his buttons. Why do you do that? You always have, and then you’re hurt by your own actions, and we’re all taken along with you.”
“I’m sorry Mom,” Adam said. This wasn’t a new conversation.
I caught my breath. “Look, don�
��t worry about it. Your father’s going to do or not do whatever it is he wants. That much is clear. So please, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have said that you shouldn’t have replied. You have every right to reply as much as you want to and tell him how you feel. But please, let me go, okay? I really can’t talk right now. You’re thirty-five years old. Please don’t make me feel like you’re a toddler who can’t manage without me. I just can’t deal with your neediness right now.”
Adam sucked in his breath. I could tell by the hurt puppy sound that he made that I had devastated him. The whole conversation was a disaster, which was exactly why I didn’t want to speak to him in the first place.
“Adam,” I said, rubbing my forehead and digging my fingers into the pressure points of my eye sockets, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But sometimes you need to hear what I’m saying to you. You put your needs above mine by calling when I asked you to give me some time. And maybe yes, as my son, your needs are supposed to come first and trump mine. And I know you have been deeply affected and hurt by your father for your entire life and you know I’ve always done what I could to help you. This situation isn’t something any of us know how to cope with. We’re all struggling.”
“Fine,” he said, but his voice was strangled. I knew he was fighting not to cry. Like all the other times he had argued with Lyndon and I tried to comfort him, I had failed.
There was silence. Then I said, “I’m going to go now, okay? Book an appointment with Brenda today.” Brenda was his therapist. Great, I thought. Some mother I was, telling my son to go and see his therapist. But I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t even help myself.
“Okay.” Adam sounded sulky, frustrated. “Okay, Mom. Call me when you want or text me or whatever.”
“I will honey, I will.”
I hung up. I needed to get out of the hostel. I needed to walk, run, scream, and shout. I knew exactly where I needed to go.
I put the phone in my purse and rushed out to wait for the bus. After Lyndon had vanished, I’d bought a weekly bus, rail, and ferry pass, figuring I might as well ride around and see some of Sydney while I waited for him to grace me with some kind of message or contact. We were into our third week and I was on my third pass, and I had pretty much explored Sydney from top to toe.
The Occult Persuasion and the Anarchist's Solution Page 8